


Trench Coats and Trash Dads

by PrettyMessedUpSituation (MarcelinesNightosphere)



Category: Constantine (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dream Sex, M/M, Multi, Sam Ships It, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcelinesNightosphere/pseuds/PrettyMessedUpSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 10x05, Sam gets Dean some Hellblazer comics to read while they take a break. After a reading marathon, Dean has an interesting and very vivid dream regarding some trench coat wearing men that opens him up to some possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trench Coats and Trash Dads

Sam walked down the steps into the bunker carrying a few bags of groceries. He smiled when he reached the kitchen and saw Dean’s upper torso sprawled out over the table in the kitchen, snores coming out of him like a hibernating bear. He needed rest, but looking at the clock, Sam realized if he didn’t wake Dean up now, he wouldn’t sleep later. He set the groceries on the counter with a loud thump and Dean jumped, swiping slobber from the side of his face.

“I’m up. What’s happening?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam said, a smile on his face, taking cans and jars out of a bag. “You, uh, were out pretty hard there.”

“Yeah. Must have just knocked right out,” Dean said, sliding his hand across the table. He rubbed his face and blinked, opening his eyes wide as he tried to wake up.

Sam looked at the clock again and started counting time in his head. “Hey, I know that it’d be early for you, but I thought maybe I could make dinner and get something into you and then you could go to bed and rest up. You’re exhausted. And it’s not like anything’s happening right now.”

Dean looked unsure. “I don’t want to just –“

“Just what? Watch me do a crossword puzzle? Make it an early night. I picked you up some comics.”

Dean scoffed. “Comics? For me?”

“I think you’ll like these,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He pulled a stack out of one of the bags and tossed them onto the table. “ _Hellblazer_. John Constantine, general asshat who’s friends all get killed, deals with paranormal and selling his soul and angels.”

Dean flipped through the first few covers. “You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. And get this,” Sam added, “he wears a trench coat and tie.”

“Okay that’s just weird.”

“Right?” Sam said excitedly. “Other than the chain smoking and British thing, it’s kind of…you. Drinking problem, shitty dad, tries to save people even if sometimes it’s in his best interests rather than theirs….”

“Well shit, Sam, don’t sugar coat it.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He finished making his salad and started working on a sandwich for Dean. “Speaking of trench coat and tie, how is Cas by the way?”

“Off on some crusade that he’ll be finished with shortly. Kind of anxious to get him back here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Shut up,” Dean snapped. “I’m just worried about him.”

“Sure, of course,” Sam said. Under his breath he whispered, “ _Destiel_.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Sam’s sideways grin stretched across the side of his face as he brought Dean his plate. “Eat up, then call it a night. If you read some of those comics let me know how they are. I might steal a few as you get done with them.”

“Will do, Sammy.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich and smiled. He didn’t mind letting Sam take care of him for a little longer. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t use it, and it seemed to be giving his brother some sense of purpose. Plus it was a damn good sandwich.

 

 

Dean settled onto his bed and started reading the first comic. And then the second. Then the third. Before he knew it he had read all of the comics Sam had bought him and it was a lot later than he anticipated going to sleep. His eyes burned. He sank down into his bed and reached over to turn off the lamp. He checked his phone one more time to see if Cas had sent him a message, then mentally chastised himself for checking his messages like a teenager waiting to get a text from their crush. He crossed his arms and his ankles, falling asleep before he could give it a second thought.

 

A mist rolled into the back alley of a dank city block, the air smelling like rain. Dean stood in the middle of the narrow road, listening for a clue as to where he was. Water dripped from a fire escape ladder to a puddle of water filling a pot hole making a rhythmic plinking sound. Sirens flew down a road in the distance and were gone. A few drunks stumbled out of a bar laughing. Then silence. The stillness was unsettling. Dean looked around, turning in a circle observing nothing but darkness until his eyes stopped on Cas.

“Jesus, Cas. What the fuck. You scared the shit out of me,” Dean said to the angel, clasping his chest. He noticed he had the Samulet on. When was he? Was he zapped back in time? Was this a dream?

“I heard your call,” Cas said.

“What call? I didn’t say anything.”

Cas’s head tilted to the side. “After all these years, you still think I don’t know when you need me. I can sense these things, Dean.”

“You wanna get a drink?” Dean asked, nodding toward the bar up the alley.

“Um, not really?” Cas said.

“Well I need a drink. Come keep me company. I’ll buy you a Shirley Temple or something.”

“I have no need for…oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Let’s go.”

Dean pushed through the bar, not paying attention to anyone in the sparse crowd. He bee-lined to the two empty stools and sidled up on one, flagging a bartender to give him two fingers of whiskey and started to ask for something for Cas when a ginger ale with a cherry and a heavy amber liquid swirling in it was slid in front of him.

“Nice trench coat.”

Dean looked up. “No fucking way.”

“What’s that, green eyes?” the Brit asked, a cigarette balancing between his lips as he spoke. His Zippo sparked twice before igniting, a red hot cherry burning as he inhaled. A wave of smoke blew out of him, choking Cas. Dean waved it away. “I’ve always wanted to buy an angel a drink, but mine never seems to stick around long enough. What’s a celestial being like you doing in a shit pub like this?”

Cas’s eyes were wide. “Um.”

“Not as loquacious as my angel. But I do love your taste in dress.”

“You’re John Constantine,” Dean said.

“John the Bastard, Wanker of Liverpool, at your service.”

Dean threw back his whiskey. “And I’m dreaming.”

John cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so, love? Then why are we in this…upstanding establishment?”

Dean blinked and they were in a blank room. His room, his bed, but plainer – emptier. Not a touch of personal belongings or anything that made Dean’s room feel like his. Cas looked bewildered standing in front of Dean who sat on his bed.

“Well this is a slight improvement. Got anything to drink, mate?” John said, crossing the room and opening cabinets that didn’t exist in the real world.

“What the fuck is happening?” Dean asked, looking to Cas for answers. Cas shrugged.

“You said it, boss. It’s all a dream,” John said, waving his arms in the air, a bottle of whiskey in one hand a glass in the other. He paused, staring at Dean. “Who _are_ you anyway?”

“Dean Winchester,” he answered.

John smiled in recognition and poured himself a drink, raising a glass to his host. “That is not what I expected. Dean Winchester. And I take it this is Castiel?”

“You know who we are?”

“Oh, _yes_. You’re well known in the demonologist and dark arts community, Master Dean Winchester. And this friend of yours here who is lacking majestic plumage is Castiel, Angel of the Lord, rebellious soldier, and on the business end of some great misfortune of loving…humanity,” he ended, shifting his eyes between his audience. “How is your brother, by the way? That Sam Winchester. From what I hear, that’s a bloke you want on your side when the good faces off against the bad and the ugly.”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffed, turning a glass that was somehow in his hand. “Sammy’s one of the best.”

“What about you?”

“What, demonologists not gossiping about me around the water cooler?” Dean asked.

“Oh, your reputation precedes you. You’re a bastard just like me, getting pissed in bars and every one you are stupid enough to care for falling by the wayside.” He offered Dean a cigarette, which Dean declined. “We all sell our souls sooner or later, Dean Winchester. Just depends on what it’s for. And how many times you’re willing to do it.”

“He may be troubled, but Dean is certainly a good man,” Castiel chimed in. “He’s made many sacrifices over the years and has not had an easy life.”

“Said to the choir.” John scoffed and threw back his whiskey, staring right into Cas’s eyes with a brewing anger. He broke his glare to turn his attention to Dean. “But my question to you, Winchester, is why are we here?”

Dean looked to John then to Cas. “I don’t know.”

John rolled his eyes. “This isn’t an experiment in existentialism. I mean why are _we_ –“he said, gesturing violently between himself and Cas, “doing _here_.”

Dean stared at him blankly.

“If you weren’t so pretty to look at I’d drive me fist across that chiseled jaw. Full of answers, you are.” John set the bottle and glass down and moved to stand in front of Dean next to Cas, leaning down with his hands braced on his knees, inches from Dean’s face. “See sweetheart, we were in a bar. Now the three of us – in _your_ dream, I might add – turn up in what suspiciously looks like a bedroom. Why would that be? Yours truly, and this angel suspiciously dressed in similar fashion alone in what one would assume is your room. Perched on your shoulders, the good Castiel and the bad John Constantine. I bet Freud would have a field day with you.”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Dean warned, anger and embarrassment flushing his face. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“I don’t think you like you when you’re psychoanalyzed,” John retorted. “Tell me Dean,” he started, walking in a circle around Cas, “which one of us were you thinking about wanking off to before you fell asleep?”

Cas shot a shocked took at John, then softened his expression as he turned to Dean. “Does he mean –“

“Yes, Cas,” Dean interrupted. “And you,” he said, pointing at Constantine, “you can shut the fuck up. I’m not…I’m….”

“Who said you had to _be_ anything? You are what you are, mate. Like what you like, do what you want. Wank off to an angel in the bathroom if it pleases you.”

Dean looked to Cas, thinking his eyes would be bulging, his cheeks blushed. Instead, Cas was holding back a smile.

“We’re in your dream, Dean,” Cas said. “What did you hope to accomplish here?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You do realize you’re arguing with your own subconscious.” Cas reached out and touched Dean’s face in that tender way that melted him. “Dean, it’s okay.”

Dean took stock of Cas’s stance, the tenderness of his touch and sincerity in his voice. It seemed so real. But like the Brit said, it was just a dream. He could do whatever he pleased.

“Fuck it.”

Dean moved back on the bed on his knees, sitting on his heels, trying to gather some kind of courage to act out on his desires. Cas smiled, taking off his trench coat and draping it over the end of the bed. He loosened his tie as he kneeled on the bed, moving toward Dean who was having trouble breathing. Dean reached out for his tie, hooking his fingers above the knot, tugging lightly on it for a second. There was much more emotion in this than he’d ever imagined, and it felt so real. The way Cas looked into his eyes with that smile Dean had seen too little of made his heart swell and his stomach flutter in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Their faces hovered together, smiles and half-laughs exchanged between the two before Cas finally touched his lips to Dean’s briefly, testing the waters. All Dean’s nervousness melted away when Cas moved back to check his reaction. He slid his hand behind Cas’s head, pulled Cas’s face to his and kissed him hard. Their lips parted slowly, Dean’s tongue gliding through Cas’s mouth, nearly gasping at how much relief he felt – how long he’d needed this, even if it was a dream. Lost in the warmth of their kisses, the two forgot the third in the room.

John cleared his throat. “While I enjoy expressions of love as much as…okay I can’t stand the bullshit, it drives me to drink. But might I interrupt this amorous engagement and pepper it with a little more excitement?”

Dean’s eyes looked panicked for a moment before he shrugged, nerves coming over him again.

“I’m not much of a voyeur when joining in is on the table,” John said, throwing his trench coat over Cas’s and loosening his tie. He climbed up onto the bed and seized Dean’s face in his hands, kissing him with ferocity.

Dean’s fingers were still hooked onto Cas’s tie, and he broke from Constantine’s grip to kiss Cas, taking the same enthusiastic passion and carrying it over. Cas happily reciprocated Dean’s excitement, catching his breath when Dean, still gripping John’s shirt, pulled the man in closer. He switched between the two, shocked at how much he was enjoying this. His cock was hard and desperate for something to happen, but Dean was finding exploring the different techniques of his bad boy and his angel too intriguing. Finally Constantine had enough, and pushed Dean back down on the bed.

“For fucksake, let’s get on with it.” He looked down at Dean and smiled, then over at Cas. “You do the honors?” Cas shook his head, looking unsure of what John was asking him to do. John laughed and took hold of Cas’s face, kissing the confused angel who was taken by surprise quick and hard. “You are something else.”

John smiled at Dean and went to unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans, tugging them off his bowlegs and casting them somewhere out of sight, Dean’s cock fully engorged.

“You’re a sight. Say, in this dream room of yours is there any form of lubricant?”

Dean’s eyes widened and he gestured to a nightstand.

John opened the drawer and pulled out a pump bottle of lube. “I’ll be damned.”

Dean looked to Cas, pulling gently on the end of his tie. Cas took notice of the apprehension in his eyes and leaned over him, kissing him in reassurance. It didn’t take long for Dean to be lost in Cas’s mouth. He barely flinched when the coolness of a lubed finger circled his hole. His entire body relaxed, knowing he had Cas. He moaned when skilled fingers scissored inside of him minutes later, stretching him. He reached down and started stroking himself, rocking his hips and rolling the precome on the tip of his cock around his head. Cas broke away and Dean saw John kneeling between his legs, pants hanging on his calves, his white shirt still on and skinny tie hanging loose and off center. John positioned himself onto Dean and smiled.

Dean took a deep breath in when John started the slow push into him, pausing to let Dean catch up. When John’s hips started rolling, Dean’s eyes rolled back and his eyelashes fluttered. This was new. This was different. This felt _good_. Suddenly Cas’s mouth was on Dean, sliding his lips over the tip of his cock and down toward the base of his shaft as John thrust forward, the two creating a matching rhythm that was overwhelming in the pleasure it was giving Dean. His hands tried and failed to find something, some place to grab onto. Finally he reached behind him and grabbed the headboard, his breaths hitching. He gave up trying to hold back the whines and _oh fuck_ s and every _holy shit, fucking hell_ and _god fuck me_ that wanted to spill from his mouth, letting himself be more vocal than he ever could outside of this most excellent dream. Cas’s talented tongue rolled as he moved over the shaft of Dean’s cock, moaning, the hum of his stifled vocals rattling Dean further toward the edge. John hooked his arms under Dean’s knees, lifting Dean’s solid thighs as his cock thrust deeper into Dean. Cas’s mouth shifted to the new angle and Dean felt himself start to stir. Instinctively he tapped Cas’s shoulder, looking at the angel stretched out perpendicular to him on the bed, one leg hanging over the edge and the other hitched up to give him leverage. Cas ignored his tapping. Seeing the desperate motions Dean was making trying to alert Cas to his state, John grinned and fucked him harder, driving into him until Dean was gasping for air, clutching Cas’s hair and pulling as he came, Cas swallowing him down.

Dean was reeling. He was seeing sparkly bits floating around him as his body relaxed, blood slowly coming back to his head. Cas was lying next to him. John Constantine flopped down on the other side of Dean, smoking a cigarette.

“Want one now?” he asked, offering him one from his near-empty pack.

“No, I’m good,” Dean said, barely getting the words out.

“Well it was good meeting you, Winchester. Hope this experience got you all sorted. See you in hell someday, you self-sacrificing bastard.”

John’s Zippo lighter sparked once before lighting another cigarette. He snapped the lid closed and Dean startled awake.

 

“Holy. Fucking. Shit,” Dean said, sitting up and staring into the darkness of his room. He looked down and felt the mess he’d made of himself. “Fucking god damn it.”

He got up out of bed and got out of his clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket in the corner. Jumping in the shower, he cleaned himself up and let his mind try to figure out what the hell just happened. It was a vivid dream. Vivid. Especially Cas. Shit. How was he supposed to look at Cas after a dream that intense?

Toweling himself off, he ventured out to his room. Dean looked at his phone. It was three-thirty in the morning. He had a message from Cas.

_I’ll be right there._

He scrolled through his texts to make sure he hadn’t said something stupid. Nothing would have given Cas any indication that he wanted him to get to the bunker or any that said Cas was on his way. The sound of creaking hinges made Dean rush to flick on the light from the lamp on his nightstand. He about had a heart attack. Cas was closing the door to his room and jumped when he was caught.

“Dean!” he whispered.

“What the hell are you doing, Cas?”

Cas smiled. He took off his trench coat and hung it over the chair at Dean’s desk and took off his shoes, sliding them against the wall.

“Cas?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he strolled over to Dean’s side of the bed, picking up one of the comics and thumbed through the pages. “ _Hellblazer_. John Constantine. Exorcist, Demonologist, and Master of the Dark Arts. Sounds like someone we’d get along with.”

Dean coughed. “Yeah. Sounds like. But he’s about as real as Batman. But Cas, you never answered me. What are you doing here, man?”

Cas put the comic back on the nightstand. “Dean remember when I found you once in your dreams?”

“Yeah, you came to warn me about –“ Dean stopped cold.

“See I can’t travel freely without my wings, but I can still pick up on longings. I always come when you call, Dean."

"Where were you?"

"I had made it back here, but didn’t want to wake you or Sam. I was sleeping on the couch. And suddenly I found myself in an alley.”

“No.” Dean was mortified. “No. No way.”

“It felt real, didn’t it?” Cas asked, stepping closer, loosening his tie.

“Cas, I’m...fuck, I'm so embarrassed. I’m sorry. I had _no_ idea.”

Cas smiled. “Neither did I.” He took Dean’s hand and let his fingers catch on the knot of his tie. “It seems as if you, as you would say, got yours. Maybe now I could get mine?”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah, Cas. Sure.” He pulled Cas to him and kissed him. It felt just like the dream.

 

 

Sam walked into the kitchen the next morning and was surprised to see Cas there, drinking coffee, wearing pajama pants and one of Dean’s shirts.

“Hey, Cas. Where’d you – oh, morning, Dean.”

Dean gave an awkward smile.

“Um, so how were those comics?”

“Good. Great.”

The three waited in uncomfortable silence. Sam smiled and nodded slightly, finding a granola bar in the cabinet. “Destiel,” he whispered as he closed the cabinet door by Dean’s head.

Dean’s head snapped up. “Shut the fuck up, Sam.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
